Chapter 4 - Forged in Fire
The door to Room 12 rattled violently. Clara grabbed the heavy iron fire poker from the rusted hearth, stepping in front of the bassinet where Leo slept.
"It's Silas," a voice rumbled from the other side.
Clara undid the deadbolt. Silas Lancaster stepped into the dingy room. He looked nothing like his polished, manicured brother. Silas was rugged, scarred, and radiated a terrifying, coiled energy. He wore a heavy leather jacket, and his dark eyes immediately scanned the room before landing on Clara.
He took in her pale, sickly complexion, the blood seeping through her shirt, and the iron poker in her hand.
"Put the metal down before you pass out and impale yourself," Silas said, closing the door and locking it behind him. He dropped a heavy duffel bag on the floor and pulled out a medical kit. "Sit down. You're bleeding out."
Clara collapsed onto the bed, too weak to fight him. Silas worked quickly, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned and re-stitched her infected wound. He didn't offer empty words of comfort. He operated with military efficiency.
"Julian is a coward," Silas muttered as he taped the bandage down. "But Genevieve is a monster. She won't stop looking for the boy. The Lancaster bloodline is the only thing she worships."
"I know," Clara whispered, looking at Leo. "That's why we have to destroy her before she finds us."
Silas pulled up a rickety wooden chair, sitting backward on it and resting his arms on the backrest. He looked at Clara with a new, assessing gaze. "You're serious. You want to take them down."
"I want to ruin them," Clara said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "I want Genevieve to lose the company she sacrificed her soul for. And I want Julian to end up with absolutely nothing."
Silas smiled, a sharp, carnivorous grin. "I have capital. Untraceable money I've built up over the last decade in London. But I can't touch the US markets without Genevieve freezing my assets. I need a proxy. A face."
"I can be the face," Clara said, her eyes burning with a fierce, unnatural light.
"You're a fugitive, Clara. You have no identity."
"Then buy me a new one," Clara demanded. "Hide my son. Train me. Teach me how to be as ruthless as you are. We use your money and my inside knowledge to systematically dismantle their supply chains, buy out their board members, and trigger a hostile takeover. We take the empire."
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Silas stared at the battered, bleeding woman sitting on a cheap motel bed. He saw the fire in her eyes—the exact same fire that burned in his own chest.
He held out his hand. "Deal, partner. Now, let's get you and my nephew out of this rat trap."
